Escape from Stone
by Zealak Silverdirk
Summary: Arakel, a Barn Owl, is captured and taken to St. Aggie's where she meets Soren and Gylfie, two other owlets intent on escaping the stone prison. But will they survive the secret that lies within? Part one of a trilogy.
1. How Did I Come Here?

_"How Did I Come Here?"_

The fledging owlet clung to the last memories of her home. Now, at St. Aggie's, she was just a number, nothing else. It was probably the worst fate any owl chick could ever suffer. Separation from their parents for their entire lives, no purpose but to serve the dictators of the stone mazes of St. Aegolius. And now, after only two weeks in the nest, the young barn owl was sentenced to just that fate.

Arakel stayed awake into the long hours of the night, luckily, no sleep marches would proceed for at least another week. Then she would have the ultimate test of her will. Could she stay Arakel, the bright-eyed, inquisitive young owlet, or would she turn into the mindless cronies of Skench and Spoorn, the rulers of the Academy.

To give out the full title of where she was emprisoned, Arakel now was forced to live in St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls. When she had first heard the name, she was completely repulsed. She wasn't at orphan! And, if she ever let the thought slip into her mind, if she ever thought that she might just be an orphan, she would blame every last bit of it on St. Aggie's. It did not deserve the title of academy. It was more a stone death trap than anything else. Arakel would stick to that conclusion, even if it meant she might lose her young life. At this rate it wasn't much of a life to live.

She thought that she might have had one other owlet in the academy who was still sane, but, evidently, she was wrong. Every creature was brain-washed, or, more commonly in the state known as moon-blinked. The process with which the moon is used to confuse and destroy and owl's thoughts and easily formable. They could br the worst tools of mass destruction if they were ever ordered to be. It was the way of things at the academy, and she barely knew any different.

Although sleep seemed the farthest thing from her over-worked mind, the young owlet finally gave in to the merciful depths of calming blackness and dreams.

* * *

A tree appeared in her mind's eye. A beautiful, tall spruce tree, just like the huge clusters that grew all over the Shadow Forest. It was her nest. Here, she was born and spent the first week or so of her life. The bark was covered with thick tendrils of clingy, warm moss, just the kind for a nestling. Some said it was like rabbit's ear moss, but a little less soft. This did not matter much to the newly hatched Arakel.

She cuddled into the warm moss, and slept for a short time, soon interupted by her father, Icarus, returning with a bug for her "First Food" ceremony. As with all owls, ceremonies were important in marking the key events of an owlet's development. There was "First Meat", "First Bones", and at the end of an owl's life there was also, the "Final Ceremony", marking the death of the particular owl.

She peeped gleefully as her father brought the worm close to her beak, and held it there, waiting for his daughter to take the offering.

"Come on, Arakel. You can do it," he grunted from behind the worm. Reaching up, the nestling Barn Owl took it, and her mother, of the common name, Luna, cooed with obvious delight.

Gathering the young chick in their wings, the Barn Owl family shared a few brief moments of quiet happiness; the only noise being their nest-maid snake vacuuming up bugs with her long, forked tongue. Nest-maids were responsible for cleaning up all the little bugs that could be hiding in the hollow, such as certain worms and beetles.

"Alright Vanezza, we're off to get ourselves some food. Watch over Arakel for us," Icarus called as he stepped through the hollow's entrance. She nodded in acknowledgement and continued sucking up the pesky insects.

It had seemed a long time to the little bundle of downy fluff, since her parents had left, so she crept over to the edge of the hollow. It looked quiet and serene in the inky-black sky, she glimpsed other owls soaring past the moon, hooting their pleasure like braying wolves.

'I wonder what it will be like when I fly,' the Barn Owl thought to herself as she sighed contentedly.

* * *

It had been about a fortnight after that moon-filled sky had assailed her. The stars twinkled sightly in the sky like tiny laterns of owls already gone to glaumora, flickering in the night breeze. Life was good. Food was plentiful in the nest, and all was running smoothly. Arakel was a right little bundle of mischief. She asked many questions, varying from why a firefly's abdomen glowed bright yellow at night, to, what did a spruce tree taste like. At times she was caught trying to eat the wood on the inside of the hollow, and upon being questioned, answered promptly with: "You said if I wanted to know what a tree tasted like I should try it." Her parents churred, the owl form of laughter, and left it at that.

One night, when her parents were out hunting for a plump squirrel to tide their daughter over for when the sun would come up, Arakel wandered back over to the edge of the hollow. A sudden _whoosh_ blasted in her sensitive eardrums and a harsh skrike sounded. Burning amber eyes met hers, and talons the size of her head wrapped around her small, fluffy body. Screaming, Arakel was lifted into the air, and the last thing she heard before her hollow vanished altogether was the sound of her parent's nest-maid, calling frantically. "Arakel? Arakel, where are you?!"

* * *

A brief moment of wakefulness brought her now terrifying memories to an end. She breathed deeply, letting calm was over her body. She was still stuck in St. Aggie's, and now her dreams were haunted by her prisoners.

_To be continued...__

* * *

_

_Finally! "The Pact" has been completely revised. Or rather, since it was deleted, completely re-written. So, what'd you think of it? Do I need improvements? If so, where? Did you love it? What did you enjoy most about it?_

_Author's Note: "Vanezza" is not pronounced like "Vanessa", for any of you who are wondering. It is pronounced like real "z's"._

_Zealak Silverdirk_


	2. Awakening in Hagsmire

_Awakening in Hagsmire_

A hard thump landed on her and Arakel rolled over. Her pit guard had landed her a kick in the back to awaken her. She groaned and barely avoided a second kick. Although some pit guardians were nice, like Unk or Finny, most were harsh and cruel. Gurj, a Great Gray owl, was no exception to that rule.

"Git up 16-05! Time for your assignment!" the last word seemed deformed as it entered past his beak. It sounded sarcastic and sadistic. Arakel knew that the others probably could not decipher his words in such a way, being moon-blinked already or stunned. She'd give Skench and Spoorn one thing; they sure could moon-blink an owlet fast. But Arakel would not be such an easy victim.

Following behind Gurj, the young Barn Owl peered from side to side as other owlets passed by her. All different kinds they were, Screech, Spotted, Masked or Sooty, they were all in the same predicament. Imprisonment. Of everything. Body, mind, even their gizzard was a constant slave to the rulers of the stone canyon. Her mind reeled as this overwhelming tide of thoughts smashed into her like a boulder launched from a catapult. A chill crawled up her spine, but she shook it off and kept trailing the large owl ahead of her.

"Here you are, 16-05. The pelletorium," as the Great Gray left, Arakel heard him churr deep in his throat, with a smirk embedded deep at it's core.

Entering into a large group of owlets, she heard snatches of an older owl up ahead. "And this is- As you can see- collecting bones, pebbles and teeth from the pellets. This is called a picker. There are three different kinds," the voice grew stronger, more frequent and louder as Arakel advanced near the front. "The third-degree pickers take out the bones and teeth of animals, and the occasional pebble. The second-degree pickers gather the feathers and fur. The first-degree pickers are the most important, though. They peck through the remains of the pellet to find little pieces of metal called flecks."

Flecks? Why did that sound familiar? Where had she heard it before? Of course! Her parents had been discussing one night about Ambala's rivers, which were filled with millions of the tiny flecks. This tiny particles could shatter and destroy and owl's gizzard, causing damage or complete shutdown of the owl's most vital organ other than the brain. The gizzard processed emotions, in simple terms of course.

Arakel went stiff as stone. Her eyes grew wide with fear and her undeveloped claws gripped the stone floor like a vice. She wilfed in fear. Flecks were extremely dangerous, by what she had learned from her parents. They weren't something to mess around with and keep in the library of St. Aggie's. Her wilfing was instantaneous; her feathers seemed to cling to her body as though they had a life of their own.

"16-05 seems to be having some troubles today," the voice of the owl who had been talking earlier was hollow and flat, but Arakel could tell that she was being spoken to, as questions were forbidden and severely punishable by the law of St. Aggie's.

Startled out of her reverie, the Barn Owl's head flicked in the direction of the speaker. She was being glared at by the cold hard eyes of Spoorn, one of the leaders of St. Aggie's. If it could be believed possible, the owlet wilfed even further, until she seemed a mere tiny thing, growing from the stone floor.

"Well, 16-05, I'm waiting," Spoorn's eyes were half-closed, danger evident in the barely visible amber eyes.

Arakel shook herself and replied haltingly. "Uh... I- was just... _overwhelmed_ by the... amount of activity that goes on here." When she was finished, she mentally kicked herself, but almost did this action physically. Just in time the owlet stopped and stood there dumbly, waiting for the leader's reaction.

Spoorn glanced suspiciously at the youngster, but thought better of torment; though it would have been enjoyable to watch another laughter therapy session, the Screech Owl was not in the mood. "I guess you'll just have to adjust, 16-05," the number was gritted out in agitation. "And you had better learn quickly." She hissed out this warning to the Barn Owlet as she passed.

Arakel was terrified now. It was bad enough that she would have to work in this horrid pelletorium, now she would have to watch herself from an enraged Spoorn. Sighing deeply, Arakel stayed near the back of the group as they proceeded into the large cavern known as the pelletorium.

Her eyes grew wide as tree trunks at what she saw. She knew the cavern was big, but, colossal? It was almost too much to take in.

47-2 must have been reading her thoughts because she put in a word of encouragement in that flat tone of the truly moon-blinked. "This might seem a bit too much to take in at the moment, but you'll get used to it."

The owlets listened to further instructions on their positions and walked- a very unnatural thing for most owls- over to their ledges, some had to climb, and Arakel was one of them. By the time she reached her ledge, she was breathing heavily. If she peered down from where she stood, she could just make out the owlets she had seen earlier. She gulped. It wasn't natural for any owl to be afraid of heights, but she was tempted to be, she was so high up.

Starting in on a pellet, Arakel almost gagged. This was the absolute, most _disgusting_ thing she had ever done. Hopefully it would be the worst. She cringed as her small beak plunged into the soft pellet. Twisting her head, she broke it in two and began to search for bones and teeth.

Just as she was beginning to get the hang of it, a shrill cry resonated from the opposite side of the cavern. Arakel was so startled she could have jumped in the air in fright and fallen to her death.

Skench appeared at a ledge and crooned to the owls in the pelletorium a most disturbing message. "Question words will get you into trouble, as you all know. And 12-1 is going to find out about what we do. The laughter therapy begins." It was grated out harshly, almost as though the tone was picked especially for the occasion.

A chill ran up and down her spine. This time she did not stop it. Laughter therapy. The phrase seemed harmless at first, but, as her stay would elongate, Arakel would learn the true meaning of the words.

Two of St. Aggie's monitors flew up to the high ledge, carrying a bundle of shivering down in their lethally sharp talons. Shoving the owlet in full view of the others, they began to pluck him.

Actually, plucking would be a rather quaint word compared to what they were doing. Ripping and tearing was more like it. With each patch of down they dropped, more cries and screeches of pain filled the pelletorium.

Bits of down floated past her, and Arakel almost yarped. It was bad enough that she was stuck here in the first place, but now she would have to listen to the screams of young owlets as their down was torn from them? It was insane! Could the cruelty of St. Aggie's know no bounds?!

As each wisp of down floated past, the murmuring grew louder. Soon she was able to distinguish it. They weren't talking, they were laughing, or churring, as owls called it. It was not the normal churring of an honest laugh, each churr was hollow. Just like the voices of the truely moon-blinked, their laughter was affected, though not as a natural choice. The owls of St. Aggie's were taught how to laugh. Believe it or not, they wanted to control every owl so badly, they taught them how to laugh.

Turning her head to the owlet beside her, she watched him sigh with content, but she heard no laughter. Seeing her, he answered what her eyes said. "Ah, St. Aggie's is finally teaching us to become better owls. Marvelous. That owlet will soon no perfection like we all do."

If Arakel could have rolled her eyes she would have done that now. What a load of racdrops. Better owls? Even the lowliest wet-pooper was better than these St. Aggie's rats. Wet-poopers were birds who did not have the ability to yarp out their waste like owls did, an unfortunate thing. But at least wet-poopers were honest creatures, unlike these owls desperately bent on conquest.

Cold fear dripped through her veins. If every owl of St. Aggie's was treated this way for as little as uttering a question word, what else would they be willing to sacrifice for power?

_To be continued..._

* * *

_Finally, I finished the second chapter. Talk about hard! I've been so busy with school and Christmas shopping (I'm almost done) that I haven't been able to write that much._

_Anyways, PLEASE REVIEW, because I want your opinion about my story (reminding you again to never flame) and I'll look forward to what you have to say. I would like some more reviews because I want to know what people think._

_Don't forget to read the latest chapter of "Twilight's Chants", it would mean a lot if you reviewed that too._

_Zealak Silverdirk_


End file.
